


Dark As Gold

by Arken_Stone1



Series: Mithril and Opals: The Desolation of Thorin [9]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Dark Thorin, Descent into Madness, F/M, Feisty Bella, Gold Sickness, Rule 63, fem!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arken_Stone1/pseuds/Arken_Stone1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin, Bella and The Company leave Lake Town in hope of reclaiming the lost Dwarven homeland. Yet, the dragon sickness enthralls Thorin as they near the mountain, casting him in a halo dark as gold. </p><p>Author's Note: rated teen and up for language.  While not explicit, this story alludes to the beginnings of abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark As Gold

Disclaimer: All the characters appearing in The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are copyrighted by Warner Brothers and the J.R.R. Tolkien estate. No infringement of these copyrights intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. I write this fanfiction only for love of the The Hobbit and not for profit.

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The sun crested over the peaks of the eastern horizon on the brisk winter morning that I remember so well. Dressed in ill-fitted armor meant for humans did nothing to block the icy wind that found its way through every nick and dent of the tin can I wore. It rubbed me in all the wrong places and swallowed me alive. I’d rather have depended merely upon my wits and Sting, but my loving and overprotective husband insisted that I garb myself in the rusted remnants that made me look like a walking chamber pot.

Ah, the joys of married life, I think not. My disposition was hardly stellar as I grumbled under my breath, longing for first breakfast, a warm hearth and an early morning cup of brewed tea. Instead, I was surrounded by Dwarves who smelled of fish and outhouses. I was not amused.

“Thorin, where is Bofur?” I glowered at my husband for making me wear something akin to a flower pot on my head. “You do know, that he’s not here?”

“Most likely sleeping off the cask of ale that he drank last night,” Thorin said without missing a step. “If he’s not here, we leave him behind.”

“But, he’s one of the company! You can’t just leave one of our own in a strange town of Men.”

“We’ll have to, Lass,” Balin said behind me. “If we’re to find the door before dusk, we can afford no more delays.”

“Balin,” I stopped mid-stride. “Can’t we wait just a little longer?”

“No, we can not,” Thorin’s short reply surprised me. One by one, we stepped into the boat provided us by the Master of Lake Town. I found I forgot how to speak at the strange turn in Thorin’s personality. He was singularly obsessed with the Lonely Mountain and nothing short of a lightning strike would keep him from his goal. 

I couldn’t remember how to make my tongue move when I saw Thorin block Kili’s entrance onto the boat. “Not you. We must make haste and you slow us. You will remain in Lake Town and I will send for you.”

“Uncle?” Kili’s face was a strange mixture of hurt and disbelief. “What are you talking about? I’m coming with you.” 

“No,” Thorin answered. “Stay here. Rest. You are wounded and need time to heal. I need strong warriors.”

I looked first at Thorin then Kill, seeing how much they looked like one another. Both proud, defiant and stubborn because of the Durin blood flowing in their veins. “I’m going to be there when you open the door, Thorin, and I will look upon the Hall of our Fathers. You can not make me stay here.”

I was about to say some something to my Oakenheaded fool of a husband when I felt a gentle hand stay me. I looked over my shoulder to see Balin give me a rueful gaze. “No, Lass, do not interfere. Thorin is King and we do as he commands. Though you are his wife, you must not question his decisions in front of the others.”

“He’s being a jackass, Balin, and I don’t care if he’s the bloody Queen of Rivendel,” I snorted. “Someone needs to smack him because he’s walking around as though a gold brick got lodged up his arse.”

“Lass, ye best be silent and let Thorin be King,” Balin told me with a one wiry brow quirked in consternation. I wasn’t used to being told to be quiet by anyone. 

I turned back to study Thorin and Kili as they stared at one another while trying not to insult one of those dearest to me within the company. As I silently fumed, I wonder if those large Dwarven feet could possibly fit into his mouth.

“Kili, remain here at Bard’s,” I heard Thorin’s stern command soften to loving entreaty of his nephew. His hand rested on Kili’s shoulder before affectionately cupping his head. “Give your body a chance to mend and join us when you are healed."

I saw my husband quickly turn away, his eyes bright and shining as the morning sun. I knew in that moment it broke his heart to leave his nephew behind as he blinked away the glisten of unshed tears. I knew down to the fur on my feet how badly he wanted his nephews at his side when the door of Erebor opened and how it saddened pained him to live Kili in Lake Town. In that moment, I was ashamed at how quickly I had assumed the worst of Thorin.

Oin huffed as he stepped off the boat and onto the dock. “I’ll stay with the lad, Thorin. I will see him well again.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Thorin said softly as the healer passed him.

“Uncle, what in Mahal’s beard?” Fili challenged, anger lacing his words. “We have waited all our lives for this day because of the tales you told of the mountain since we were young. You can’t deny him the chance to be there.”

“Fili,” Thorin began.

“I will haul him on my back if necessary,” Fili stopped his uncle in mid-sentence.

“Fili, one day when you rule, you will understand why I do this,” Thorin’s quiet reply made me pay rapt attention because rarely did I see such raw emotion come from my usually stoic husband. “I can not put this quest in peril for the sake of one Dwarf. Not even my own kin.”

“ Caragu rukhs,” Fili swore hotly, blue eyes blazing with temper. Even though the Company didn’t make it a point to teach me Khuzdul, I had learned a few choice words and phrases along our journey. To translate it loosely, Dear Reader, it means “orc dung.” The closest phrase to which I can compare it to is “bullshit.”

“Fili, you belong with us,” Thorin stayed him with a gentle grasp on his arm.

“No, I belong with my brother,” Fili said, striding away without another glance at the King Under the Mountain.

Out-of-tune horns blared something that was supposed to be a melody, but sounded more akin to a pack of Wargs in heat. We all turned to see the Master step up to the rickety pedestal that towered above the townsfolk on the dock. He waved cheerfully at the crowd and I really felt more like throwing a rock at him. How could anyone be so cheerful and not have had breakfast?

Once on the water, I stripped my body of the rusty armor. By late morning, we had crossed the frozen lake and trekked across the barren, rocky steppe toward the Lonely Mountain. After having some salted pork, cheese and a slice of bread, my mood improved to where I felt almost my normal self again.

We hiked up the mountainside with only the sounds of our footfalls on rock to keep us company. There were no animals, no sound of wind blowing through trees; only the sound of boots crunching into loose stone. The silence was unnatural, almost an intangible warning of whatever might lie beneath Erebor. “So quiet,”

“It wasn’t always this way, Bella,” Balin joined me, resting his hands akimbo on his hips as he stopped to catch his breath. He pointed to the barren horizon surrounding us. “Once, these slopes were blanketed with forest, the trees filled with birdsong.”

I noticed one bird, brown and plain, fly by us as we talked and perch on a nearby boulder. I cocked my head, not having seen one of its kind before that day. I couldn’t discern if it were a pigeon or a finch, but it seemed too large for either. At that moment, I thought what a nice squab it might make roasting on a rotisserie over an open campfire. I could add a bit sage and thyme to give it flavor. As I thought of various recipes, my stomach roared in hungry protest. 

“Be well, Mistress Baggins,” Thorin joined us, calling me by proper title, I think, out of habit. “We have food, tool and plenty of time. Not half the day is yet spent and Mahal is with us.”

Something then caught his attention, prompting Thorin to leave us and to run to an overhanging cliff that jutted out from the side of the steppe.

“Where are we?” I asked, seeing the ruins of a large city in the valley between us and the Lonely Mountain. 

“These are the ruins of the city of Dale,” Balin explained. “Now, it is a pile of rubble no thanks to the desolation of Smaug.”

“The sun will be at its zenith,” Thorin said. “We must find the conceal door to Erebor before it sets. Onward, we go.”

“Thorin, wait,” I called after him. “Is this the meeting place?”

“Meeting place?”

“The Outlook, I mean. Isn’t this where we’re supposed to meet Gandalf?” I asked.

"What of it?"

“We’re not supposed to go without him,” I glanced at the overhang. “Gandalf said-”

“And here is he now, Wife?” Thorin cut my words short. “We have no time to waste waiting and a tottering wizard. Make haste.”

“Wife?” I said, there was no affection in the word as he used it. He made it sound the same tone one uses when calling to a dog who has displease his master. “My name is Bella.”

“Be silent,” Thorin said, something menacing underlying his command. “We move.”

“Excuse you, but who died and made you one of the Valar?” I said as he walked away from me. “You will address me by my given name and not as if I’m some animal to be summoned on command.”

He stopped in mid-step, frozen in place for what seemed half the day. Finally, Thorin turned, his face a harsh mask of silent fury a he glowered at me. Slowly, with purpose, he returned to me and grabbed my upper arm securely in his grasp. I felt his fingers wrap around it until I felt his grip became a iron manacle crushing my arm with its strength and I knew that his rough touch would leave bruises. “You will not defy me again or I shall make you rue the day you do. I warn you only once, wife, do not cross me or you will regret it.”

With a rough shake, he released me and I stumbled back on some loose rock, losing my footing. I fell backward onto my backside as he walked away from me and I could do nothing but gawk after him in silent astonishment. I felt my eyes sting with betrayal and disbelief as the heartache caused by his rough disregard and menacing threat burned worse than dragon’s fire behind my closed eyes.

Balin came to my side, offering me his hand which I took and brought myself to stand. I dusted off my trousers, staring after my husband who strode with single-minded obsession toward the Lonely Mountain. “By the Valar, Balin, the closer we get to this damned mountain, the more the gold sickness possesses him. The Thorin I know and love would never treat me that way.”

“Be careful, Lass, not to anger him. I’ve seen what the gold sickness do to his grandfather and father. I don’t wish you to be black as coal and blue as sapphire if he goes into a rage.”

“I’d like to see him try,” I said with more bravado than I felt. How Ionged to grab the closest rock, using Thorin's head as a target in a game of Conkers. I wondered how to free Thorin from his thrall with gold under the Mountain. I felt I had lost my King and we hadn’t yet seen the dragon. I worried that my dreams were fast becoming harbingers of a coming cataclysm from which there was no return. 

I wondered if the raven that had followed us from the Shire to Beorn’s had found my message’s recipient. If the legends that I had heard on the quest were true, then only the strange concoctions of a mysterious alchemist might be the only thing to save my beloved Thorin from a downward spiral of madness.

To Be Continued.....


End file.
